, 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

The  Theodore  H.  Koundakjian 

Collection 
of  American  Humor 


MISTOOK 


PENN-YAN  BILL'S  WOOING 


PENN-YAN  BILL'S  WOOING 


POEM  BY 
EUGENE  FIELD 

( NEVER  BEFORE  HAVING  APPEARED  IN  TYPE ) 


PRIVATELY  PRINTED 

NOT  OFFERED  FOR  SALE 

MCMXIV 


Copyright.  1914,  by 

HENRY  H.   HARPER 


All  rights  resetted 


St.  Louis,  Mo.,  February  9,  1904. 

Mr.  W.  K.  Bixby, 
St.  Louis,  Mo. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  BIXBY: 

In  disposing  to  you  of  the  book  of  poems 
of  the  late  Eugene  Field  entitled  "My 
Book,"  I  have  parted  with  a  most  rare 
treasure,  but  I  know  that  in  passing  into 
your  hands,  it  finds  an  owner  appreciative 
of  its  value  and  of  the  author,  and  worthy 
of  its  proprietorship.  During  our  long 
friendship  and  association,  which  began  in 
1873,  we  had  exchanged  many  courtesies, 
and  wanting  to  do  something  for  me,  he  con 
ceived  the  idea  of  dedicating  to  me  this 
book.  He  began  it  in  1887,  and  worked  in 
it  from  time  to  time  until  1888.  During 
that  year  while  on  a  visit  from  my  home  in 
Montana,  I  visited  him  in  Chicago,  at 
which  time  he  showed  me  the  book.  I 
begged  him  to  let  me  take  it  with  me,  for 

[  5  ] 


the  purpose  of  showing  it  to  my  friends  in 
Missouri  and  Kentucky.  He  consented,  but 
said  he  had  not  quite  finished  it,  and  wanted 
to  make  several  additions.  So  I  promised 
to  bring  it  back  to  him,  but  when  I  arrived 
in  St.  Louis  I  received  a  telegram  from 
Montana,  announcing  the  death  of  my  busi 
ness  partner,  which  necessitated  my  imme 
diate  return  home,  so  I  had  not  the  time  to 
stop  in  Chicago,  and  hurried  home,  taking 
the  book  with  me. 

I  had  intended  going  east  from  time  to 
time  after  that,  when  I  expected  to  take  the 
book  with  me  for  him  to  finish,  but  circum 
stances  prevented,  and  I  never  saw  him 
alive  after  that  visit. 

You  will  find  in  the  book,  among  other 
poems  unpublished,  the  one  entitled  "Penn- 
Yan  Bill,"  which  delighted  him  so;  and  in 
which  he  figures  me  as  the  hero.  He  wrote 
that  poem  in  my  room  in  the  Grand  Pacific 
Hotel  in  Chicago  one  evening  that  he  spent 
with  me,  and  did  it  while  I  wrote  three  let 
ters;  the  time  occupied  being  only  about  an 
hour  and  a  quarter,  and  his  only  cue  being 
the  fact  that  I  was  on  my  way  to  Kentucky 

[6] 


to  visit  a  young  lady  in  whom  I  was  inter 
ested,  and  whose  name  was  Susie. 

I  have  given  you  this  little  data,  thinking 
it  might  be  of  interest  to  you  in  having  the 
book.  I  sincerely  trust  it  may  bring  you 
unbounded  pleasure;  and  thanking  you  for 
your  courtesy,  and  with  the  hope  that  it  may 
cement  a  most  pleasant  and  lasting  friend 
ship  between  us,  I  beg  to  remain, 

Cordially  and  sincerely  yours, 

WILLIAM  C.  BUSKETT 


[  7] 


PENN-YAN  BILL'S  WOOING 

In  gallus  old  Kentucky  where  the  grass  is 

very  blue, 
Where  the  liquor  is  the  smoothest  and  the 

girls  are  fair  and  true; 
Where  the  crop  of  by-God  gentlemen  is  full 

of  heart  and  sand 
And  the  stock  of  four  time  winners  is  the 

finest  in  the  land; 
Where  the   democratic   party  in   bourbon 

hardihood 
For  more  than  half  a  century  unterrified 

has  stood ; 
Where  nod  the  black-eyed-Susans  to   the 

prattle  of  the  rill- 
There  —  there  befell  the  wooing  of  Penn- 

Yan  Bill. 

Down  yonder  in  the  cottage  that  is  nestling 
in  the  shade 

[    9    ] 


Of  the  walnut  trees  that  seem  to  love  that 

quiet  little  glade, 
Abides  a  pretty  maiden  of  the  bonny  name 

of  Sue- 
As   pretty   as  the  black-eyed   flow'rs,   and 

quite  as  modest,  too; 
And  lovers  came  there  by  the  score  —  of 

every  age  and  kind, 
But  not  a  one  (the  story  goes)  was  quite  to 

Susie's  mind; 
Their  sighs,  their  protestations  and  their 

pleadings  made  her  ill- 
When,  all   at  once,  upon  the  scene  hove 

Penn-Yan  Bill! 

He  came  from  old  Montana,  and  he  rode  a 
broncho  mare  — 

He  had  a  rather  how-dy-do  and  rough-and- 
tumble  air; 

His  trousers  were  of  buckskin,  and  his  coat 
of  furry  stuff, 

His  hat  was  drab  of  color  and  its  brim  was 
wide  enough; 

Upon  each  leg  a  stalwart  boot  reached  just 
above  the  knee, 

[    10] 


And  in  the  belt  about  his  waist  his  weepons 

carried  he; 
A  rather  strapping  lover  for  our  little  Susie, 

still 
She  was  his  choice,  and  he  was  hers  —  was 

Penn-Yan  Bill. 

We  wonder  that  the  ivy  seeks  out  the  oaken 

tree 
And  twines  her  tendrils  round  him,  tho' 

scarred  and  gnarled  he  be; 
We  wonder  that  a  gentle  girl,  unused  to 

worldly  cares, 
Should  choose  a  mate  whose  life  has  been  a 

constant  scrap  with  bears; 
Ah,  'tis  the  nature  of  the  vine  —  and  of  the 

maiden,  too, 
So,  when  the  bold  Montana  boy  came  from 

his  lair  to  woo, 
The   fair   Kentucky   blossom   felt   all   her 

heartstrings  thrill 
Responsive   to    the   purring   of    Penn-Yan 

Bill. 

He  told  her  of  his  cabin  in  the  mountains 
far  away  — 

r  ii  ] 


Of  the  catamount  that  howls  by  night,  the 
wolf  that  yawps  by  day; 

He  told  her  of  the  grizzly  with  the  auto 
matic  jaw, 

He  told  her  of  the  Injun  who  devours  his 
victims  raw! 

Of  the  jayhawk  with  the  tawdry  crest  and 
whiskers  in  his  throat— 

Of  the  great  gosh-awful  sarpint  and  the 
Rocky  Mountain  goat ; 

A  book  as  big  as  Shakespeare's  or  as  Web 
ster's  you  could  fill 

With  the  yarns  that  emanated  from  Penn- 
Yan  Bill. 

Lo,  as  these  mighty  prodigies  the  moun 
taineer  relates, 

Her  pretty  mouth  falls  wide  agape  —  her 
eyes  get  big  as  plates! 

And  when  he  speaks  of  varmints  that  in  the 
Rockies  grow, 

She  shudders  and  she  clings  to  him  and  tim 
idly  cries  "Oh!" 

And  then  says  he:  "Dear  Susie,  I'll  tell 
you  what  to  do : 

[    '2    ] 


You  be  my  wife,  and  none  of  these  'ere 

things  shall  pester  you!" 
And  she?    She  answers,  clinging  close  and 

trembling  yet :     "I  will" — 
And  then  he  gives  her  one  big  buss  —  does 

Penn-Yan  Bill. 

Avaunt,  ye  poet  lovers,  with  your  wishy- 
washy  lays! 

Avaunt,  ye  solemn  pedants,  with  your  musty, 
bookish  ways! 

Avaunt,  ye  smirking  dandies,  who  air  your 
etiquette 

Upon  the  gold  your  fathers  worked  so  long 
and  hard  to  get! 

How  empty  is  your  nothingness  beside  the 
sturdy  tales 

Which  mountaineers  delight  to  tell  of  bor 
der  hills  and  vales  — 

Of  snaix  that  crawl,  of  beasts  that  yowl,  of 
birds  that  flap  and  trill 

In  the  wild  egregious  altitude  of  Penn-Yan 
Bill! 

Why,  over  all  those  mountain  peaks  his 
honest  feet  have  trod  — 

[  13  ] 


So  high  above  the  rest  of  us  he  seemed  to 

walk  with  God ; 
He's  breathed  the  breath  of  heaven  as  it 

floated  pure  and  free 
From  the  everlasting  snowcaps  to  the  mighty 

western  sea ; 
He's  heard  the  awful  silence  that  thunders 

in  the  ear: 
"There  is  a  great  Jehovah,  and  His  biding 

place  is  here!" 
These  —  these  the  solemn  voices  and  these 

the  sights  that  thrill 
In  the  far-away  Montana  of  Penn-Yan  Bill! 

Of  course  she  had  to  love  him,  for  it  was 

her  nature  to  — 
And  she'll  wed  him  in  the  summer,  if  what 

we  hear  is  true; 
The  blue-grass  will  be  waving  in  that  cool 

Kentucky  glade 
Where  the  black-eyed-Susans  cluster  in  the 

pleasant  walnut  shade  — 
Where  the  doves  make  mournful  music  and 

the  locust  trills  a  song 
To   the   brook   that   through   the   pasture 

scampers  merrily  along; 

C  14"  1 


And  speechless  pride  and  rapture  ineffable 

shall  fill 
The  beatific  bosom  of  Penn-Yan  Bill. 

Oct.  1 5th,  1887 


LfliR/IRV 


126.  FIELD,  EUGENE.  Penn-Yan  Bill's  Wooing.  Poem  by  Eugene  Field 
(Never  Before  Having  Appeared  in  Type).  Thin  square  8vo,  original  boards 
with  gilt  stamping,  uncut.  (Cedar  Rapids),  1914. 

FIRST  EDITION,  PRIVATELY  PRINTED  and  not  for  sale.  Fine  copy,  with  the  Teichman 
bookplate   tipped   in.      In  matching   box. 


